The Color of Death
by kakashifangrl1012
Summary: "You didn't honestly believe that there has been one of me for all of time, did you? That would be ridiculous. However, I have been doing it the longest." A one-shot from Death's perspective about his past and how he came to his current position.


**A/N: This is written in Death's perspective and also in a similar format as **_**The Book Thief.**_** I wanted to remain as true to the character as possible, so I am taking a few pointers from Mr. Zusak. I do not claim to own the character or the format. The format and the character are his, I am simply elaborating on the story behind Death. Thank you, to whom ever is reading this, for taking the time to read this story.**

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For as long as I can remember, my life has been immersed in death.

Well, that isn't entirely true, I suppose, as I am not in fact, living. But neither am I dead. I couldn't really tell you what sort of existence I'm in. Somewhere in between, I think, would be the best way to describe it.

Humans have a name for me, but, as I have said before, there is no need for me to utter it.

***** What I Am Called*****

**You have surely heard it before.**

**It won't be the last time.**

I don't care for this name very much. It is a word often associated with another that is equally unbecoming. Fear. I see it all too often, and I rather dislike being connected to it. I'm really not terrifying or horrible or mean at all. I _can _be, of course, but generally, I'd say I'm more comforting than terrifying, gentler than mean. I think it's the least I can do when someone has to leave all they know. After all, I was once one of them. I had a _real _name.

*****Perhaps a Surprising Fact*****

**Yes, I was once a human, too.**

You didn't honestly believe that there has been one of me for all of time, did you? If you did, well, that was quite foolish of you. Considering my line of work, it shouldn't be all that surprising that I have had several predecessors. Mine is a difficult job, and not all before me could handle it for very long. The result is that there have been hundreds of souls that have failed my position before me. It is not with pride that I tell you that I have been doing it the longest.

Yes, I too, have a story.

When I entered this unforgiving position, I did, by no means, know what I was getting into. Most people are relieved when I take them in my arms, even those who believe that they were taken before their time. For most, death is a release. I was not among those.

*****How I Came to my Current Position*****

**I fought back.**

I didn't take to my fate so easily. In fact, I kicked, screamed, punched, scrabbled, and tried desperately to run away from it. Up until my death, life had been good to me. As good as life can be to a person, anyway. And I was not ready to leave.

Needless to say, my efforts were for naught.

However, my predecessor saw this resistance as an imperative quality in his line of work. He had been ferrying souls for many years, and the job was taking its toll on his being. He had nearly lost that coveted resistance. So he gave me a choice.

*****The Choice Was This*****

**Be carried away.**

**Or take on the task of bearing souls to the next life, if you will,**

**and go back to the world I called home.**

I chose the latter. Most days I regret it.

I still considered myself human back then. I did not have any intention of leaving the only place I had ever known, and I would have done anything to stay. The simple fact was: I was a coward. I was in denial, and I was afraid.

There's that ugly word again. Fear.

In retrospect, I'd say I was manipulated quite a bit as well. I had been under the impression at the time that I would go back to my normal life, that I had been given a deserved second chance. How wrong that perception was.

*****A Note About my Predecessor*****

**He had a way with words.**

Upon accepting his offer, he proceeded to tell me about the everlasting position I had just agreed to. I could not back out. I did not want to back out. Because there was a person I wanted to see. Persons, actually.

*****Perhaps Another Surprising Fact*****

**I had a family.**

When a person dies, their memories are stripped from them. I cannot tell you what happens to them; I am merely the messenger. But I was special. In return for my services, I am allowed exactly three memories.

The first is simple, as far as memories go.

It was my seventh birthday. There was cake. It was slightly burnt, but I didn't mind. My mother and my sister had made it for me. We sat around our little table and talked and laughed and ate slightly burnt cake. I remember it as one of the happiest moments of my life. Some might believe this an odd moment to hold onto, out of so many other options, but I couldn't fathom letting it go. Happiness is quite rare for me now, after all.

In the second, I was ten years old. I met a girl.

You can imagine where this is going, I'm sure.

She was pretty, I remember. Even though it was raining and dark, I remember thinking that she was pretty. She was splashing in every puddle she could find, barefoot. She wasn't surprised when she saw me, quite the opposite.

"Who are you?" she asked.

I told her my name.

She smiled. She had a beautiful smile. She became my best friend.

Finally, the last memory. My death. I was seventeen years old.

Again, why pick such a strange memory? Why be continuously reminded of my tiresome fate? The reason is a simple one, and one that most probably wouldn't understand.

The sky.

I was lying on my back, staring up. I felt the grass underneath me. It was soft and damp. And it was cold, freezing cold. In some corner of my mind I heard someone crying, and I felt a hand cling to one of my own. I don't know who it was. That person said something to me; I think it was my name, but I couldn't hear. It seemed as though everything had a blanket covering it, muffling sound, drowning feeling. Everything except the sky.

It was midnight blue, blotted out in places by fluffy, dark chocolate clouds. The pale silver moon smiled softly down at me, casting rays of white brilliance down on the earth. It was all encompassing; I couldn't have torn my gaze away if I had wanted to. I had never seen anything so amazing in my life.

And just like that, it was gone.

My soul was taken by the arms of my predecessor, and you know the rest of the story.

That last memory is the only one that is still entirely clear to me. In the others, faces have faded, and the words have gotten quieter until, now, only a whisper remains. Undoubtedly, I have held each of those three people in my worn arms without knowing who it was.

So if they are no longer living, and I have no remote chance of seeing them, why continue with this job? Why not pass it on to another foolish soul?

As I said, most days I regret this position I have put myself in. I try not to look at the humans, see the feelings. Sometimes I can't help it. I have to look. I have to know whether or not they'll be the one. Because you see, there is something I still hope for. Something that only one of those survivors can do for me. It's not a very difficult request, I think.

I'd like someone to say my real name.

I imagine it would conjure up a midnight blue sky, with dark chocolate clouds, and a pale silver moon.

*****What is my **_**real**_** name?*****

**I don't know.**

**You tell me.**

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**A/N: That is a glimpse of Death's story, as I see it. I perceived his main attributes to be tired and lonely, so I based his past off of that. Though he no longer sees himself as human, he simply wants to be remembered, as I think most of us do. And he talks about the sky a lot in the book, so I added in what I thought his sky would look like, and the fact that he associates it with his human self. Thanks for reading.**


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